Chapter 7: Forward Scouting Thread

Turning to her companions, still on the stairs or in the loft, Verrian says, "Make room for him. Let's all come downstairs and let him hide."

She leaps lightly to the side, getting off the stairs. To Alinsa, "Who is outside? How can we help?"

Jassin doesn't seem to be willing to be herded, standing his ground stubbornly. "They know I'm here, or at least should be here. If you put them off again, they're going to get suspicious, and I do not want them taking you," he says, taking Alinsa's hands in his.

Since nobody seems inclined to answer her question, Verrian walks to the window to see who is outside.

Swan scrunches his eyebrows. This isn't how the story goes. Who's doing this? More uncertain than he's been since he read the journal, he follows the others to the main floor.

"Would I pass for Jassin to them?" he asks Lin.

Looking outside, Verrian sees something that she's only ever read about in histories of the war: a transport engine. These vehicles were produced by Rhamian military engineers and sold throughout the continent, but soon after the start of the war, those sales trickled to a halt outside of Rhamia and by a few years into the war, most of them had been destroyed in combat. This one looks fairly new, or at least well-kept: an unwheeled covered cart that levitates a short distance off the ground. The sides are open to the air, but from the histories, it's said that the driver of the transport engine could activate a wall of force around the entire vehicle to keep out the elements and prevent soldiers from falling out. It's large enough to hold two dozen soldiers plus the operating crew, and looks to be fully occupied. The engine is made of a dull grey metal, with whitestone stripes along the entire body, and painted in the colors of the Alcaven crown.

Stepping out from the front of the engine is a blond-haired man in highly polished armor with a bright green tabard and half-cape. He wears an elegant sword at his side, which is too fancy to be very practical. Probably ceremonial, nothing more. He'll be at the door within a couple of minutes at most.

Jassin and Alinsa turn to Swan and Wil, as though not quite understanding what they're discussing. Wil's comment certainly catches Alinsa off-guard, and she stammers a confused thank you.

Jassin says, "They're... well, yes. It's a bit less shady than a press gang, but functionally, that's exactly what it is. They're from the King in Hara. It seems they're not taking my refusal to join them lightly."

He shakes his head. "I can't possibly ask you to take my place. It is noble of you to offer, but you have no reason to sacrifice yourself in such a way for someone you've never met," he says, flashing a sardonic, tired smile. "Even if you have somehow managed to invade my home."

Turning to Jassin, Verrian says, "Hide, quickly. I'm going to impersonate you. Alinsa, follow my lead." She looks at the rest of her companions and is at a loss as to whether they should hide or pose as visiting friends, so she says nothing.

If there is a blanket or throw nearby, Verrian grabs it. She drops into a chair and proceeds to... change. Before long, she looks exactly like Jassin, with the glaring exception of a hideous gash where his left eye should be. She says, "I can't disguise my voice, so I won't speak. I've had a terrible accident that's left me unable to function mentally."

Aware that she doesn't have much time, she stops speaking and adopts a slumped posture, staring unseeing into the middle distance, the blanket across her knees.

Will looks at the wife and quickly whispers.

If you can cry on cue, now would be a good time. I am a friend, Wil, who visits every 6 months or so. Your husband was injured in the barn. I am helping out.

Swan catches on, or at least goes along with the subterfuge. "And I'm Yule-ton a leacherous traveller passing through and stopped for your families charity. I have decided to help with some chores while your husband convalesces." He unbuttons his shirt playfully and sits with an impressive manspread and sneer.

Alinsa shakes her head. "I had a Naucan friend that used to pull that trick a lot," she says, breathing out a nervous chuckle. She turns to Jassin, who has set his feet stubbornly and is looking around at everyone skeptically. "Go. This might just be the thing that sends them away for good, Jassin. Swallow your moon-cursed honor and go upstairs."

Zhaar grunts, and takes Jassin by the arm. "Best for all of us if I take you upstairs," he says to Jassin and gives him a nudge toward the stairs. He makes a few noises of protest, but in the end, does as he's been instructed.

Alinsa pulls up a chair next to Verrian-Jassin and settles herself into it. She gives Wil a shaky smile, tears already beginning to form in her eyes. "I'm already terrified, Wil. I won't have any trouble spilling a few tears." She looks at everyone still present and breathes out, "Thank you. I don't know why you're doing this, but... thank you."

A short silence falls, though it feels interminable under the circumstances. It is broken finally by a heavy knock on the front door. "Open in the name of the King," comes a firm tenor voice tinged with the faintest hints of disdain.

Swan gets up and gives Alinsa a friendly wink before adopting the sneer again. He walks to the door, and opens it, standing in the doorway. "It's open, it's open. What be this about? And keep it low, will you, the master of the house is trying to get his rest. They've been through a lot," He leans closer. Quietly so as they can't hear him inside, he continues, "And I think the pretty lady is soon to be a widow, if you get my meaning."

The man at the door looks for all the world like a palace functionary playing at being a solider. His teeth are too clean, his hands too smooth, his hair trimmed and styled just so, his armor gleaming. The slightly underdressed quarter-orc at the door catches him clearly by surprise. "I most certainly do not get 'your meaning'," he says with a reflexive scoff, somehow managing to look down his nose at Swan despite being a couple of inches shorter. "This... is the home of Jassin Avarus, is it not?" he says, eyes narrowing in a cross between confusion and suspicion. He half-turns to take in the yard in front of the house, trying to convince himself that he hasn't somehow come to the wrong well-manicured farm on the outskirts of the city.

"Yes, yes, Jassin is that man over there in the chair, your lordship. You look like you have something serious to talk to him. Best speak loudly, I'm not sure how much he understands since the, well, the accident."

He turns and opens the door. He yells, "JASSIN! THE KING IS HERE TO TALK TO YOU!"

In the chair, with the throw draped over his legs, "Jassin" merely continues to stare into the middle distance with his single eye, wearing a vacant expression.

"JASSIN!" He stares daggers at the crippled man.

To the Lord, he says, "Uh, is there someone else you could talk to about your," he waves his hand, "business?"

The man goes quickly pale. "I'm not the king!" he blurts out, then looks desperately at anyone who might be paying attention. "I'm... I'm really not the king." He looks bewildered, befuddled, and several other be-states. Somewhere, somehow, between the transport and the front door, the high ground of noble superiority he comfortably occupied has crumbled completely away. "I..." he begins, then catches sight of Jassin's state. "Sun, moon and stars!" he gasps.

"What happened to this poor soul?" he asks Willitan, the only person who hasn't set him completely wrong-footed.

Next to 'Jassin's' chair, tears start to tumble down Alinsa's cheeks as she impulsively takes her 'husband's' hand, pressing it to her cheek tightly.

Wil moves toward the door and signals the man that he will talk to him outside the door.

Hello sir. I thought it better to talk out here so as to not upset the poor woman any more than she already is.

Wil glances at the troop transports.

You are doing good work soldier. Work that Jassin had come to accept as his own.
Knowing he might be gone for a while, he set about getting the farm in shape as to ease the burden on his wife...the irony...I was down the road just walking along when I heard a dreadful scream. I found him by a tree, I guess he was chopping it down for wood.

Wil steadies himself from the trauma he saw.

He must have hit a knot or something. A piece of the tree had flown off and was driven deep into his eye. I bandaged him as well as I could...but between you and me...I think it got through to his brain.

He shakes his head sadly.

I don't think he will last a week, and a blessing it will be.
We are trying to keep her spirits up...but I fear she will attempt to join him

Wil backs into the house and starts to shut the door.

Thank you for understanding, she needs peace and quiet

As Wil’s story goes on, the man’s face grows more and more horrified.

"Sun, moon and stars," he says, looking miserably toward the house. "I will never understand why anyone uses their hands for such things. My records suggest he’s a perfectly talented mage. He could’ve taken the tree down with a glance, and now look at him."

He sighs deeply and rubs his hand over his face. "This is not how I anticipated this day progressing..."

"Are you registered with the crown, friend?" he asks Wil as he pulls out a cylindrical object about the size of his palm.

Wil chuckles.

No, I doubt I would be of any note to your lord. I am only passing through. I am from a shire in Ardraven. As you know, we stay close to our homes very often. I only ventured out because my family's bee hives were destroyed and I came this way to see if I could get a queen to take back with me.

Wil smiles guilelessly

Wil chuckles.

No, I doubt I would be of any note to your lord. I am only passing through. I am from a shire in Ardraven. As you know, we stay close to our homes very often. I only ventured out because my family's bee hives were destroyed and I came this way to see if I could get a queen to take back with me.

Wil smiles guilelessly